


Hannibal and Max

by MyDearStalker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Rope Bondage, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDearStalker/pseuds/MyDearStalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A...sequel? To Doctor/Patient Privilege.</p><p>She swept to his side. He placed a hand on the nape of her neck, and she tried not to wince at the touch on her recently monogrammed flesh. ‘You don’t want her? I thought she would be your type.’ Hannibal gave Max a slight push toward Will, who backed away at her advance.</p><p>‘Undress her.’</p><p>‘No.’ spat Will.</p><p>‘Undress her, or I will do it myself. And I will not be kind.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing Doctor/Patient Privilege (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1108010/chapters/2229687) and found I could not stop. 
> 
> Also...um...*blushes*...I don't know any other fannibals, so if anyone wants to make me feel less lonely on swansandtyphoid.tumblr.com, (and an rp at violentcilla.tumblr.com) I will give you tumblr cuddles.
> 
> *also, i get real joy out of writing things that people want to read, and i need prompts to survive. if there is something you want to see in this, please let me know in the comments!

'What have you done?' asked Will with mild horror, lip curling, small frame further shrunk by his bulky jacket and weary gaze. 

'In this case, nothing but benefit from the hard work of others.'

Will held onto Max's hand in a prolonged handshake. His eyes were fixed on the fine gold bands that encompassed both her wrists. Will had seen those before.

He looked at Hannibal in horror.

* * *

 

After Bedelia had left, Max had felt vulnerable and alone. She had buttoned her blouse, flicked her hair free from her collar, and kissed Hannibal on the cheek before walking out the parlor door. Max had lain curled on the table, breathing, focusing only on taking oxygen into her body.

Hannibal had walked over to her. Max noticed for the first time how tall he was. His presence filled her vision, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. Shirt rolled at the sleeves, he gently pushed Max's shoulder until she was lying on her back. Max had felt like a wounded soldier, captured and in the care of the enemy's doctor. 

Hannibal had run a swab along the light wound he had made in her torso. 'You won't need stitches. If you look, I'm sure you'll agree.' Max knew he was right. To her right, the fire still burned.

He had helped her sit, shown her to the bathroom, and let her bathe alone. She was unused to such trust. She had walked down the carpeted hallway herself, leaving Hannibal to pack away the swabs and iodine into a black case. When she had finished, she walked back, untempted to run. She would only get lost in the house, bloody her fists banging against some locked door. Instead, her feet had retraced their steps until she returned naked to the parlor. Hannibal had sat still in an arm chair, lost in thought. Numbly, her damp feet padded across the room until she stood in front of him, feeling lost, without identity. She did not know who she was here, what she was needed for. She stopped in front of her new captor, who raised his eyes appraisingly. Slowly, he stood.

 Max felt keenly the difference between her naked skin and his armour of clothing. His shirt cuff grazed her collarbone as he reached out to gently hold her chin, turning her head one way and then the other. She caught a scent of his rich cologne. He put a finger to the pulse in her neck and examined his watch. 

'I don't intend to take your life, Max.' he stated, distractedly. He dropped his wrist, and his right hand moved from her pulse down her arm, extending it in front of her, examining. 'Not as long as you are useful.' 

Emboldened by her change in circumstance, Max found her voice. 'Why am I here? Why did you take me?'

Hannibal took a moment before he answered. He walked over to the fireplace, and retrieved a small black box from the mantel. Opening it, he picked up a gold band, perhaps half an inch in width. Max could see it was intricately engraved, although could not make out the design. Hannibal took her hand, and slipped it over her wrist. Once fastened, she could not make out the join. A solid metal eyelet protruded elegantly.

'Not matter your line of work,' said Hannibal, fetching the band’s companion from the box, 'It is important to honour your profession. And slavery has a rich history.' Max flinched at the word, but felt a curious relief that it was finally said aloud. 'There were many different categories of slaves in Ancient Greece, for example. Despite their limited rights -- and Aristotle's assertion they should be treated like children -- they never quite lost their humanity. They were welcomed into their master's household, and their mistreatment was punishable by law. In that period of history at least, a master never had absolute power over his slave.' Hannibal snapped the bracelet around Max's other wrist.

'Other trades were not so kind. Modern slavery is perhaps more brutal. Our arrangement will certainly be different. You are not the first to find yourself in this situation. Not in this house, not in Dr Du Maurier’s, and certainly not in the whole of civilisation. Perhaps the thought will comfort you.’

Max realised Hannibal had provided no answer to her question. The other bracelet snapped around her wrist with a click. Hannibal bent to attend to her ankles. She did not run.

* * *

 

Will shoved back the sleeve of Max’s blouse. He grabbed her other hand and repeated the movement. He stepped back from her in horror.

‘You’re shocked.’ Hannibal said, in mild surprise. ‘Max, this is Will, a colleague of mine. Max was an extremely talented intern at one of my consulting hospitals.’

‘This is what you do with talented interns, Hannibal?’

‘Max, perhaps you would be so kind as to take Will’s coat.’

Max reached for Will, who backed away as if her touch would burn.

‘Is this why you invited me here? To show me this? To taunt me after what happened…?’

‘What happened was your choice, Will. You struck the blow.’

‘You told me it was a mercy!’ he spat. ‘She was…you said she would die. That there was no need for unnesseccary suffering.’

‘Are you saying you regret your choice?’

Will ignored the question. ‘Tell me those shackles aren’t the same. Tell me you didn’t lift them from that poor girl.’

Will was beset by sudden memories, the trickle of blood from the corner of a full mouth, eyelids fluttering under their own weight, limp wrists hung from the ceiling by exquisite golden bracelets. His hand around a bird like throat.

‘It is tradition….’

‘It is monstrous!’

Hannibal lent against the library bookshelves, impassive. Max stood in front of Will, gazing at him, lost in confusion. A click of Hannibal’s fingers brought her to attention.

‘Here.’

She swept to his side. He placed a hand on the nape of her neck, and she tried not to wince at the touch on her recently monogrammed flesh. ‘You don’t want her? I thought she would be your type.’ Hannibal gave Max a slight push toward Will, who backed away at her advance.

‘Undress her.’

‘No.’ spat Will.

‘Undress her, or I will do it myself. And I will not be kind.’

‘Hannibal please…’

Will turned to look at Max, and saw the terror in her eyes. He reached out to steady her by the shoulders. ‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered, to her only, and with trembling, clumsy hands he undid her blouse. Removing it from her shoulders, he hesitated over where to leave it, and decided on the back of a chair. Hastily, unsure of where to look, he undid her bra, her skirt, her underwear, revealing her cruelly marked body.

Will recoiled.

‘You did this.’

‘In fact, I did not. Max, turn, please.’

Max turned slowly in a circle, displaying her body for Will.

Hannibal watched his friend intently. There was horror, confusion displayed on Will’s face. But there was also arousal. Buried deep, inconsequential. But it was there. Hannibal tossed a coil of rope at Will’s feet, making him jump.

‘Bind her.’

Will hesitated.

‘Whether you do as I ask or not will not change her fate. It will not free her. But at your hands, she may suffer less.’ Will bent to pick up the rope, refusing to take his eyes off Max, as if she were a fragile doe, as if he could soothe her with his gaze. Standing, he found the coil of black rope in his hands, and looked at it startled, breathing deeply.

Hannibal looked at the pair facing each other, Max naked but for her gold restraints, long hair uncoiled down her back, Will straggly, muscles in his jaw twitching. They reminded him a little of children, to be guided, to be taught to play nicely with one another. He approached Max, and clasped her wrists behind her back.

‘Her hands first.’ Will swallowed visibly, the muscles bobbing his throat. He approached Max, attempting to hold his body away from her as he reached around her torso to thread the rope through the eyelets in her shackles. Hannibal was a head taller than them both, and he trapped Max's body between himself and the younger man's. Will threaded the rope through the metal in an awkward embrace, fumbling. Hannibal shoved Max into his arms, making him cough up a strangled sound. She relaxed her head onto his shoulder. Hannibal gave her hair a cursory stroke as Will tied the knot tightly. Once he was done, he bent his own head to rest on Max, as if exhausted.

Hannibal spoke softly in Max’s ear. ‘Kneel.’ Her knees bent on the carpet, her face brushing past Will’s torso, his belt, his knees. The length of rope trailed behind her, and Will bent to loop it through the similar restraints on Max’s ankles. Hannibal stood above both of them, noticing Will’s barely concealed desire. Will rushed through the process, pulling the knot together ruthlessly.

Once he was done, he leant back, head bent in shame. Hannibal placed a foot on Max’s back, pushing her to the carpet.

Will turned his gaze.

‘You have a choice, Will.’

Will gave a sad, bitter chuckle. ‘And what is that.’

‘You may go, or you may stay. However, I would bet that between my actions and yours, Max would prefer yours.’

‘You are obvious and cruel.’ Will whispered.

Hannibal smiled. ‘Make your choice.’

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Will was struck still with indecision. Hannibal stood with his foot on Max's back like a victorious hunter. Max's balled fists were enough to convince the younger man. 

'I'll stay.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I will _stay_.'

Hannibal nodded. 'Look here.' Hannibal crouched until he was level with Max and Will. Will watched his dexterous fingers trace the scarring on Max's back. 

'You see this? This means the skin has split, has probably bled. These are hypertrophic scars. They usually take approximately a year to fully form.' 

Will wondered why Hannibal was explaining this to him, as if he were a first year medical student, Max a mere cadaver. To exonerate himself? Cruelty had never bothered Hannibal, no matter how much Will had disapproved.

'You'll note she has avoided the kidneys. That's important. Always avoid damaging the organs.' 

'You don't prefer them pre-tenderised?' quipped Will. _She?_

Hannibal ignored him. He rose to retrieve something from his desk. Will took the opportunity to look at Max once more. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. He noticed she was steady, that no tremor wracked her body. The scars on her back crossed each other, but appeared neat. The white marks lay on top of flushed skin and small flecks of bruising. Will felt a little fissure-crack race up his heart at the sight of her more recently damaged skin. He reached out to sweep away Max's hair in a tender gesture, revealing the recent tattoo atn the nape of her neck. If not for the red halo around the lettering, the tattoo could have been made in fountain pen, as if Max were a recently monogrammed envelope. The letters H and B were intertwined in a spider thin script. 

Hannibal returned, two objects in his right hand. He palmed the handle of a riding crop. Will noticed the other object was a single thin piece of leather, attached to a handle. Hannibal offered it to him, and Will stared. 'Would you mind?' Will's social graces responded before his qualms could. He accepted the handle offered to him. 

Hannibal firmly struck Max's hip with the crop, legs placed either side of her bound body. Her back spread as she inhaled deeply. 'Redness in the skin is usually a sign of recent impact, as the capillaries respond to the blow. A wide surface area, such as this, will not cut.' Hannibal struck again, harder this time. 'But it may bruise if the blow is strong enough.' Hannibal raised his arm. Will saw the muscles in his forearm twitch, his bicep bulge under his white shirt. His head was raised, displaying his profile against the lamplight. For a moment, Will forgot his horror and gasped inwardly, thrilled. Hannibal brought the crop down with heavy finesse. Max's gasp was almost audible. 

Hannibal held out his hand to Will. Entranced, Will handed him the whip. 

'This is a different story. Thin enough to rent the skin, if handled improperly. Or with cruel intent.' Hannibal lashed Max's shoulder blade, his face calm. Will felt a gust of air push passed his cheek. He moved back and gazed up at Hannibal. 

It was a spectacular view. Will marveled at the casual manner in which he wielded such power. The whip was light in his hand as he landed another stroke on Max's back, only hard to enough to blush the skin. 

'You've done this before.' Will accused, slightly breathless. 

Hannibal fixed him with his heavy lidded gaze. 'I have. I have also been a victim to it.' Hannibal let the handle bounce in his hand slightly before suddenly raining a much more vicious blow on Max's tortured back. For the first time, she cried aloud. 'This practice has a history. Not just in Europe.' Again, another cruel strike. 'Throughout human civilisation. To wield a whip is to hold the power of kings, of masters, of those slaves must worship as gods, in one's hand.' Hannibal licked the whip across Max's tattoo. She let out a tearful noise that tore through Will. Through his arousal, he began to feel uneasy. He crawled backwards on his hands, away from Max. 

'There is an aesthetic beauty to those in pain.' Hannibal raised his arm once more, bringing the whip down on Max with force. For the first time, she spoke. ' _Please!'_

Will looked at her, panicked. 'Hannibal, stop, that's enough.' Hannibal paused, letting the whip dangle. 

'I thought you wished to stay, Will.' Hannibal raised the whip again, and prepared to strike. 

'Just stop!' 

The blow landed. Max's scream almost physically hurt Will. He looked desperately at the doctor, and spoke without thinking.

'Hit me. Leave her alone. Hit me instead.' Anything would be better than hearing her cry, so small and helpless, her bonds his doing. 

Hannibal turned his back to Will, but Will could swear he could still see his smile. 'If you would prefer.'

Will shucked his jacket. Awkwardly, he draped it over Max's shoulders. Hannibal looked amused. Will undid the buttons of his shirt and shrugged his tanned shoulders from beneath the cotton. Will held the shirt in his hand, his chest heaving. Meeting his eyes, Hannibal took it from him, and placed it on a nearby chair. Still holding the whip, Hannibal stalked toward Will with his even glide, backing him against the armchair. When no more than an inch lay between them, he spoke softly. 'Turn.'

Will turned gingerly in the small space between Hannibal and the seat. He felt Hannibal's eyes run over the muscles in his shoulder blades. Hannibal put his arms on Will's shoulders and smoothed his hand down his arms. He grasped his hands in his, and pressed them firmly to the chair's back. 

'Hold.' he commanded. Will felt Hannibal's hips press into him for a small second before he stepped away. 

Hannibal took his time, stretching out the whip by his side. When the blow landed, Will had tensed his muscles so much the comparatively gentle strike still marked his skin. Hannibal struck twice before offering advice. 

'It will be easier on you if you relax. The tighter your muscles, the easier they break. Like a branch snapping in a storm.'

Will's response was a bitter laugh. Relax? He hung his head between his arms, hands gripping the back of the chair, bracing. Hannibal built the anticipation, and Will had no doubt it was on purpose. Another strike crossed his virgin skin. Will breathed in through his nose, his head tilting back. 

'I have a hard time...' Will's sentence was broken by another bite. '....picturing you submitting to this.'

Hannibal's voice was conversational. 'I wasn't given a choice.' Will felt his stomach grow warm at his unaffected tone. He felt exposed, deliciously so. He was grateful to be facing away from Hannibal as his pants grew tighter. Hannibal flicked the whip in the air, bringing it down on Will's back with force. Will cried out. Suddenly, hands were on his, breath was fogging his back like a window. They pulled him away from the safety of the chair, and roughly spun him around. Will blushed suddenly at his obvious desire. 

Hannibal stepped back, holding the whip to his side, subjecting Will to his scrutiny. He pinned Will with his gaze, making sure that he knew his shame was obvious. Will looked away. Hannibal's instructions were simple. 

'Come. Kneel.' Will nearly combusted with the heat that flooded his face, ashamed at the need those words brought out in him. His reluctance to bend was met with a strong hand on his shoulder. He obeyed the pressure, dropping to the rug. He fixed his eyes on Hannibal's shoes as the pain began anew. 

Hannibal was quicker, this time, less evenly paced. Will had less time to recover, and he fell on all fours, trying to focus on processing the pain. The sharp licks built up on his back, one across the other, each one worse than the last. 

'When does this stop?' he asked, sounding more desperate than he had hoped. 

'When you ask for it to stop.'

Will panted, fingers curling inot the carpet. Hannibal reached down to grab a fistful of Will's hair, steadying him under his grip. Will let a small moan escape his mouth, and buried his face against Hannibal's leg, pride shattered. He wanted Hannibal's hands on him, wanted to be subject to his will, his desires. The leather heated his skin unbearably.

' _Please_.' he implored, although he wasn't sure what for. Hannibal ignored him. 

'Hannibal, stop.' Will gave an agonised cry. Hannibal was unmoved. 

'You are exquisite like this Will. I may not get the opportunity again. I intend to make the most of it.' his lashes continued. 

'Please. I'll return. Just stop.  I can't handle this, it's too much, _you_ are ... it is too much.' Will buried his face in Hannibal's shoes, begging. 

Hannibal stopped.

'Another time, then.'

Will caught his breath. 'Another time. I promise. Another time.'

Will's shirt landed by his side. Will grabbed it, covered his raw flesh. Hannibal picked up his jacket from Max, still tied on the floor. Will looked at the ground as he accepted it from Hannibal, shrugged it over his still open shirt. 

'I will expect you to return. Make sure you keep your promise.' Will nodded, tears of pain still in his eyes. He fled from Hannibal's studio.

Closing the door behind him, he felt the man's eyes on his back, even when his feet hit the street. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal sat in the chair Will had gripped so tightly. One leg was folded over the other, his elbow resting on the leather bound arm. His head was tilted back, exposing his neck, the soft light sinking into the fine pores of his skin. 

'Come to me.' he beckoned. 

Hannibal had let Max loose after Will had departed. He had let her stretch her aching limbs as he fastidiously tidied the room. Possessed with a sudden fatigue, he had collapsed into the chair where he now sat. He watched Max from under partially closed eyelids as she walked toward him, shoulders stiff in what he suspected was heavy resentment. She folded at his feet like a child. Still, Hannibal reached out a hand to pet her head. She rested it on his knee, for lack of another comfortable place to lie, and submitted to his touch.

Curiosity bloomed in Hannibal's mind. He ran his fingers through the hair of the creature -- this lure -- that seemed capable of bringing those he wanted to him. He felt suddenly fiercely territorial, as if Max were a coveted antique he had won at auction by a slim margin. So much about her was unknown to him, and that felt like an unacceptable risk.

'How are you feeling?' he asked Max, who took a moment to register the question. It was feasible she thought he was asking someone else, though they were the only ones in the room. Hannibal calculated it had been a long time since someone asked after her welfare. He counted on it. 

She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, fearing some trap. 'I ask out of genuine concern.'

Max sat up to breathe, and Hannibal let her. She looked him in the eye. 'Weary, Dr Lecter. I feel tired. I feel angry, and tired, and _sore_.'

Hannibal watched her eyes blaze as she continued. 'I am not a puppet, or a toy, and you cannot turn me into one. You can't render a human being empty of all things but those of which need and approve.'

'But you don't feel afraid.'

Max didn't reply, only stared at Hannibal in hatred. 'I have nothing left to fear.'

'Was Bedelia so cruel? Or is your imagination so lacking?' he smiled. Max sat back on her heels, unashamed by her nakedness. She stared at him as if he were an opponent she was intent on crushing. Hannibal admired her in that moment. He hoped he had once appeared so brazen and fierce when under the boot of the those who tried to break him. They regarded each other, measuring.

'You have done this before. Who was it?'

'A waitress.' he answered, without hesitation, catching Max off guard. 'Her name was Nadia, and she died in the basement, in pain.'

'You're trying to frighten me.'

'If I was, you would be frightened.'

An impasse. The pair stared at each other in the golden lamplight. Hannibal was the first to break the silence. 'Are you determined to resist me?'

'My resistance isn't a choice. You're trying to make me less than a person, and you can't. Ego has to be offered up, it can't be just taken.'

'S _ervus non habet personum._ Literally, 'a slave has no personality'. Your body is not your own, you have no wants, needs or desires beyond those of your master. You can not own property. You have no origin. Regardless of how you feel, that is how you are treated, and gradually it will become the truth. Reinforced, it is internalized. A person can be made a slave. Some are more challenging than others. You can give your will to me, or I will take it from you.'

'You will never take it from me.'

'Did Bedelia?'

Max flinched automatically. 

'Do you find her beautiful?'

'Of course.' Max whispered. 'I can appreciate beauty.'

'I am glad to hear it. If she were here now, would you come if she called?'

Hannibal saw the struggle within Max, between pride and the desire to be truthful. 

'The romans only accepted the testimony of slaves under torture. It was thought they would be too loyal to their owner to tell the truth.'

'That isn't necessary.'

'That remains to be seen. What did she do to you? How did you come to her?'

Max stared away in the distance. 'I woke up in her house.'

Hannibal waited for her to go on.

'I felt pleasant. Groggy. She'd injected me with propofol. Probably. I assumed. It seemed to fit with the way I was feeling....' Max stumbled.

'Go on.'

'I couldn't move. She'd bound me. She explained to me what she saw as 'my situation'. That I was hers now. That I belonged to her.'

'Did you fight her?'

'Of course.'

'What did she do?'

Max was quiet. 'Everything.'

Hannibal let the logs crack in the fire. He waited for Max to recall those dark memories, for the sharp digs and lashes to become present again on her skin, before he spoke.

'She whipped you?'

'Yes.'

'Starved you?'

'Yes.'

'Cut you?'

' _Yes._ I know what you're doing, Dr Lecter.' Max spat, poisonously, tears in her eyes. Hannibal looked down, amused.

'Do you think me less capable than her in making you obey?'

When Max spoke, it was a whisper. 'No.'

'But you still fear her.'

'She terrifies me.'

'You are not hers any longer.'

Max gave a bitter laugh. 'The skin on my neck disagrees.'

Hannibal reached for a nearby whiskey glass and turned it on the table. 'She will use you only if I allow it. Remember that.'

Max crawled closer to fire, drew her knees up to her chest. 'I was going to be a doctor.' she said, softly. 'I was going to be _good_ at it.'

'A mind left to languish is a waste. I will train you.'

Hannibal saw hope in Max's eyes. 'The training will be conditional on your behaviour. You may access my library. I will have cadavers for you to examine.'

Max swallowed before answering. 'Thank you.'

Hannibal smiled. Manners were a grace, and would serve her well. Silence again fell between them. When Max spoke, it was in a monotone.

'Who is it you want more, Dr Du Maurier, or Will Graham?'

The question came out of nowhere, but it shocked Hannibal. His smile dropped. Max faced the fire, her knees still drawn to her chest. She spoke as if she had no choice but to speak, as if she wished to be silent but could not stop the words spooling forth from her mouth. She continued.

'Do you collect people? Is that it? You're not happy with any relationship where you are not in complete control? She will best you. I've seen her. She is unstoppable, she is barely human...' 

Hannibal had felt a cold anger build inside him. He rose quickly, wrapped his hand in Max's hair, and toppling her held her face inches from the burning fire. She squeezed her eyes tight as the smoke curled in her vision. Hannibal's hand began to prickle from the heat. He knew Max's face must feel as if it were in the fire itself. 

'Letting you talk has been a kindness on my part. Don't ruin it with your discourtesy.' he held her tight, though she barely struggled. When she spoke, it was with a voice heavy with pain.

'Who whipped you, Doctor? Does it make you feel better to see others suffer the same?' 

Hannibal released her hair and let her face fall in the ashes. Quickly, she flung herself out of the fire, gasping. He stood above her, imperious.

'I'm tired, Max. It's been a long day for us both. Sleep. Tomorrow, I will show you what it is like to have your will truly broken.' 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal watched Max carefully as she buttoned his shirt cuff. He wanted her to feel surveyed and vulnerable, that there was no escape from the humiliation of her position. He let her slip her hands around his waist to thread the leather of his belt through its loops, and reveled as she struggled with the intimacy of the act. Looking down on her, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her body into his own. She gasped. He held her there like an insect under a cat's paw, allowing her to feel the warmth and weight of his clothed body against her naked skin. 

Holding her close with one strong arm, he slipped the other into a pocket and drew out a chain. As she held herself tight, struggling within an inch of what she thought he might allow, he hooked the chain through her metal collar and snapped it closed. When he released her from his grasp, she stumbled backward, exhaling. He held the chain lax in one hand, and began to lead her down the stairs. 

'I am expecting a guest.' he announced. He assumed she must be tired from the night before, sleeping uncomfortably on the rug where he left her. He wondered how used to fatigue she was, and if she even noticed it anymore. Max followed behind him across the lounge room. Hannibal judged her proximity by the slack in the chain. He did not need to look back. 

'You're expecting Will?' her voice floated over his shoulder.

He ignored her. He hadn't expected her to push him so much, but it would be a lie to suggest that he wouldn't enjoy her punishment. He wondered if he found a note of hope in her voice. Perhaps she thought he would be distracted enough to forget about her. 

He yanked the chain, hard. Max was pulled in front of him. He tapped the entrance to the cellar with his shoe. 'Open it, please.' He admired the thin curve of her back as she bent to pull the door open. With barely any effort, he kicked her into the inky darkness, and followed down after the thick thuds that proceeded. 

He flicked the light switch. Max was trying to rise from the ground. She would only bruise. He grabbed her under the arm and lifted her, holding her hostage against the rim of a long table. Wine bottles clinked on the walls with the impact. 

'If you're good, if you do as you're told, your life here may be bearable. If you speak out of turn, it will be painful.' he shoved her onto the table, flipping her onto her stomach. 'If you question me, you will lose your tongue.'

Max lay flat, and gripped the edge of the stainless steel tabletop. Hannibal drew a hook from the ceiling from which chains hung. He held her wrists together and attached them to the chain, repeating the action with her ankles. He let the hook rise to the ceiling.

Max's body was stretched into a smile, her head left with no choice but to hang down, pulling on the muscles between her shoulder blades. The strain in her lower back would take less than a minute to turn excruciating. 

He stepped back, admiring her figure in the low, cool light. She shone like a sliver of moon. Only the doorbell tore him away. 

 

* * *

 

Hannibal waited for Will to speak across the length of rug that separated them. 

'I thought you didn't believe in unnecessary cruelty.'

'I don't. But some cruelty is necessary, Will.'

'Where is she?'

'Max? She is safe.'

'Nothing is safe here.'

Hannibal looked down at the rug in front of him. He wished things had been different, that Will had found him and his habits acceptable. As things stood, he was forced to find other ways of keeping him within his grasp. 

'Do you not feel safe here?'

Will laughed a dry laugh. 'No, Dr Lecter. I do not feel safe.'

Hannibal watched him. 'Choice is often an under-defined term. But you do have a choice.'

'You know my nature. You know who I am. You're exploiting it.'

'I do know your nature. I know you are also capable of refusing it'.

'And that would make me into, what? Someone like you? Is that what you want, Hannibal?'

'Not entirely.'

'You want to see me in pain, is that it? You want to see me naked and afraid in front of you? In awe of you?'

'I want to see you at your full potential.'

'My full potential.'

Hannibal reached for the wine bottle on the small table next to him, only to find it empty. 'Would you be so kind as to fetch another bottle from the cellar?'

* * *

 

 

Will sullenly pushed back his chair. Hannibal was almost a wall to him. Some sort of vacuum.

Will's empathy was a mirror, it reflected the emotions of whoever it faced. Opposite Hannibal, he saw and felt only darkness. And he knew something of empty men. They would consume and consume, swallowing like a black hole. All was possession to them. Even sex. Especially, sex. 

He knew it was coming. He wasn't blind, or even without desire. Hannibal's presence strained to possess him, a human shaped repository of potential energy that reached tendrils out to set fire to his insides. And Hannibal could feel his body respond. His animal-like instincts could smell prey across countries. Lost in thought, Will opened the cellar door, revealing a cool light from beneath. As he descended the steps and began to look around him for the wine rack, he caught sight of the tortured creature on the table, and gasped. 

Max's limbs were strained above her. Beads of sweat lay on her skin like dew, her dark hair a shadow on her skin. Will thought she looked like a nymph or a sprite, punished by the gods for her beauty and pride. He ran to her side, hands trying to find a break in the chain. 

'Hold on, I'll get you out.'

'No, don't.' Max panted. 

'What? Why?' Will ran his hands along the metal, up to the hook. There was no entry point, no discernible break. 

'Just...it will be worse if you do.' 

'Maybe I can lift you up, so there's no strain.'

'No, please....'

Will felt a presence behind him, and turned quickly. 

'Let. Her out. You'll break her.'

'That's the intended idea.'

Will clenched his jaw. For a beat, he met  Hannibal's cold eyes. Angrily, quickly, he began to shed his clothing. 'Is this what you want? Is this my _full potential_?'

He stood naked in front of Hannibal, arms extended, muscles tense. Hannibal was as still as a wolf before sheep. He walked to Will, and ran his hands over his arms. Will felt a chill in his spine.

'Let her down, Hannibal.' he asked, softly.

'Soon.'

' _Now_.' 

Hannibal tilted his head at Will, a small smile on his face. 'I see no reason to hurry.'

'What do you want?' Will implored, knowing the answer even as he asked. He licked his lips nervously. 'Just...just take it, Hannibal.'

'I don't know what you mean.' Hannibal played, coyly. 

Will made a frustrated noise. 'Me. Take me.'

Will felt commanding hands on his shoulders as he was swiftly turned. Hannibal pressed his body against his, and lowered his head to inhale his scent.

'What do you smell?' asked Will. 

'You smell tired. And empty. Lost. Afraid.'

Will felt a hand on his neck push until he was bent over the table, head almost level with Max. He used his hands to brace himself. Hannibal stepped away to admire the tableau. 

'Does this satisfy you?' asked Will. 'All your toys together in one place? Ready? Waiting for you?'

'This is not a game.'

'I'm certainly not having any fun.'

'Are you not?'

Will felt a hand reach round to hold him. He throbbed in Hannibal's palm and blushed in shame. 

'Don't be afraid of your desires, Will. Confront them for what they are, or they will devour you.'

Hannibal's hand stroked him rhythmically. Will tried to control his breathing, tried not to give Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing he was in any way affected. He felt Hannibal's warmth behind him, and without sound or warning he was roughly, cruelly possessed. He cried out. Hannibal smothered his mouth with a hand as he thrust inside Will, silent, merciless. Will struggled to hold back groans of pain as his insides were torn, forced and held apart by Hannibal's desire. With a hard thrust, he halted to speak in Will's ear.

'This is a contest of competing stressors. Either this will be so awful for you, you will deny your very nature to avoid being taken by me, leaving Max at my mercy, or you may offer yourself in her place.  I will accept either. What you will accept is for you to negotiate.'

Hannibal began again, slower this time. Will felt the full length of him draw in and out. He felt as if he was being savoured, like a fine wine. Amongst the pain, a small kernel of desire built. Hannibal nurtured it with his slow rhythm. Will curled his hand around the edge the table and breathed deeply, closing his eyes to avoid any chance of meeting Max's gaze. Hannibal's strokes were unrelenting. Will began to sweat, he felt ugly in his need, glad he couldn't see his face in the stainless steel under his hands. He felt anger at the man above him ( _inside_ him), who would never sweat, never moan. Who held the ebb and tide of his desire at each whim of his thrust. He bared his teeth, trying to control himself. Hannibal removed his hand.

'No.' Will hissed, before he could stop himself.

Hannibal held himself still. 'Is there something you need?'

Will breathed. 'Not from you.'

Hannibal's hand returned, a bare touch. The heat was teasing, agonising. Will shook the table in frustration, a small tantrum Hannibal let pass. Will knew he had infinite patience. 'Just finish this.' he begged.

Hannibal stayed still. Waiting for more. Will wasn't sure what to say, what to promise. He tried to thrust himself against Hannibal's palm, but Hannibal held him still. A slow, gentle push lowered Will until his forehead touched the table, bowing. Hannibal removed his hand, held Will by his hips and slammed into him, his pace a punishment. Will kept his head pressed to the table. He felt Hannibal's breath leave him in a quiet rush, felt him throb inside, a wetness coating his insides. Then a stinging emptiness. Hannibal stepped back, and redid his belt. 

Will stood up, slowly, still hard. 

'Will you let her down now, please?' he asked coldly. 

'She is there if you need her.' Hannibal's gaze dropped between Will's legs. 

'Let her down.' 

Hannibal walked over to Max. He reached up to the hook, and touched some mechanism. The chains relaxed. Max screamed as her frozen muscles seized. Will winced at her pain.

'Am I to what...live with you? Stay here indefinitely?'

'By no means. But when the thought of Max, here, alone, becomes too much for you to bare...you are welcome any time.'

Hannibal stepped back to allow Will's exit from the cellar. He collected his clothes as he passed.

The doorbell rang.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
